Chapter 31
Chapter
Thirty-One
T he last thing I wanted to do was return to my father’s home, but he was trying to find out who the traitor was, and I needed to know any information he had about the fae prisoner.
I slipped out of bed, moving quietly as my squadmates’ soft breathing filled the room.
The faint glow of moonlight crept across the floor, illuminating the edge of Jax’s boots and Riven’s dagger resting on her nightstand.
I took one last look to be sure none of them stirred before easing the door open.
The cold night air stung my face as I made my way through the castle grounds.
The guards were tucked away inside their towers, likely half-asleep.
I kept to the shadows, my boots scarcely making a sound on the cobbled streets as I wound my way through the village.
Most windows were dark, and only the faint scent of smoke from dying hearths lingered in the air.
By the time I reached my father’s home, the night had stretched on long enough that even the alley cats had disappeared. I ducked into the tavern, forcing myself to ignore the memories that crept up from the shadows. I knew this place too well.
The tunnel beneath the floor was narrow, damp, and stifling. The cold stone walls seemed to press in closer the deeper I went, like the Order itself. I knew my father’s tricks—the second step creaked, the third one shifted slightly beneath your weight. I sidestepped each one without hesitation.
His office was empty, just as I expected. The maps on the desk were neatly stacked, the quill still damp in the inkpot. He hadn’t been gone long.
I moved through the narrow hallways, making my way to his room. His door was slightly ajar, the flickering glow of firelight spilling out. I eased it open to find Cyran sitting in his favorite chair by the hearth, a glass of wine in his hand.
He looked up, his cold smile curving over the rim of his glass.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” I said, stepping inside. “But I decided an exchange of information was in order.”
Cyran’s smile sharpened. “That took less time than I expected.”
I clenched my fists at my sides. “I’m not here to grovel. I’m here to ask what you know about the fae prisoner.”
Cyran took a slow sip of his wine, savoring the moment. “And what are you offering in return?”
“I know there’s a traitor inside the castle,” I said carefully. “Someone manipulating information. I can tell you what I know—but I’m not giving you anything about my squad.”
His eyes narrowed. “You think I need you to tell me who the traitor is?” He scoffed. “I already know.”
My breath hitched. “Who?”
“That’s not how this works,” Cyran said, swirling his wine. “You give me something first.”
I clenched my teeth. “I told you, I’m not giving you information about the Fourth Guild.”
“You’ve grown arrogant,” Cyran said with a sneer. “You think you’re untouchable just because you’re playing dragon rider now?”
“I think I deserve to know who’s putting my squad in danger.”
“You deserve nothing.” His voice hardened, and he set the wine down with a sharp clink . “I’ve given you everything, Ashlyn. I raised you, trained you, and kept you alive when no one else wanted you. You’re only breathing because of me.”
“You sold me to the king,” I shot back. “Don’t forget that part.”
“That wasn’t my choice,” Cyran said, his voice low. “You should be grateful I found a way to make you useful.”
“Useful?” My power surged, hot and restless beneath my skin. “I wasn’t your daughter—I was your pawn.”
“Exactly,” Cyran growled. “And you’re playing the game whether you like it or not.”
“I’m not your pawn anymore,” I hissed. “I’m done.”
Cyran’s face twisted with disgust. “You’re a fool. You think that dragon will save you? That prince?” He barked out a laugh. “They’ll discard you the moment you’re no longer useful.”
I stood in the doorway of my father’s room, the warmth of the fire dancing along the walls, flickering shadows that seemed to claw at the edges of the room. Cyran sat in his worn leather chair, a glass of wine balanced loosely between his fingers. His sharp eyes pinned me in place.
“There will be no exchange,” he said coldly, swirling the wine in his glass. “You simply do as you’re told.”
I clenched my fists at my sides. “No,” I said firmly. “That won’t work for me. But if you know anything about the prisoner, I’ll exchange information related to a castle traitor. Nothing about my squadmates or Fourth Guild.”
Cyran’s gaze shifted to the fire, his face suddenly tight. “I didn’t want to believe it,” he muttered under his breath.
“Believe what?” I demanded.
His cold eyes flicked back to me. “How long have you been helping them?”
“Helping who?” My confusion must have shown on my face because his expression twisted in disgust.
“The royals,” he sneered. “Did they recruit you when you were a child? Was your entire relationship with Remy for my benefit?”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice shaking.
His fingers tightened on his glass. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying!” I snapped, stepping closer. “I didn’t know who Remy really was, and I never betrayed the Order.”
“You expect me to believe that?” His lip curled. “I gave you everything. I kept you alive when no one else would. And this is how you repay me?”
“You didn’t save me,” I shot back. “You bought me, sold me, and trained me to be your pawn.”
“You were more than a pawn,” Cyran growled, rising to his feet.
“You were my investment. My legacy. I cultivated your skills for years so you could take my place in Solei’s empire when the time was right.
Now look at you—running with royals and dragon riders like you’re one of them.
Do you honestly think they’ll ever accept you? ”
“I don’t care,” I said tightly. “I’m done being your asset. As I said before, I won’t be your puppet.”
His face twisted in fury, but his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “You’re a fool. The Order would have given you power, protection—everything you could have ever wanted.”
“I don’t want your power,” I snapped. “And I don’t need your protection.”
Cyran stared at me for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, with the kind of finality that only a man like him could deliver, he said, “Leave, Ashlyn.”
I swallowed hard. “What?”
“Let me remind you that you are no longer my daughter,” he said coldly. “Nor a member of the Order. I banish you.”
The words were sharp, biting, and final.
For a moment, I just stood there, feeling like something had been ripped from me. The anger I expected didn’t come—just a cold, hollow ache in my chest. Because despite everything, a part of me had still wanted to believe that he cared. That I mattered. That he would change his mind.
“Fine,” I whispered.
I turned before the tears could fall, forcing my steps to stay steady as I walked out the door. My fingers trembled as I locked the tunnel door behind me, feeling the weight of finality settle over me like a shroud.
I didn’t return to the castle. Not yet. My thoughts were too loud, my emotions too tangled. Instead, I found myself wandering the village, the cold wind biting against my skin as I tried to quell the storm raging inside me.
I wasn’t sure who I hated more—Cyran... or myself for still caring.
I had expected hostility. I had even expected anger.
But those words—those final, cutting words—severed something deep inside me.
My father had never been warm, but for all his manipulation and cruelty, he had always believed in my worth.
Now... I was nothing to him. Except a liability and I knew how the Order dealt with those.
I moved through the streets like a shadow, staying out of sight. The village was silent, tucked beneath the blanket of midnight. The air smelled like cold iron and damp stone. I focused on the rhythmic crunch of my boots on the dirt road—anything to keep my mind from spiraling.
I passed through the castle gates without trouble. The guards in the towers didn’t stir, their attention dulled by the late hour. I had no desire to return to my room. The thought of Riven or Jax noticing the strain on my face, the red-rimmed eyes, was too much.
Instead, I wandered through the grounds.
Past the barracks, past the empty training rings, past the rows of flickering lanterns that lit the path toward the northern watchtower.
The air was colder here, the wind sharper.
I hadn’t even realized I was heading toward the battlements until I scaled the ladder and leaned over the edge.
The waves crashed violently below, white foam cresting the jagged rocks. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, just breathing. The burn in my chest hadn’t eased, but here—beneath the open sky with the wind biting my skin—I could finally feel something other than anger and betrayal.
Kaelith? I reached for her through our bond, but it was still faint, distant like an echo in a cavern. Whatever barrier she had erected was still in place.
There was no response, but I hadn’t really expected one.
The wind bit at my skin as I turned back toward the compound. The castle walls loomed ahead, dark and quiet against the night sky. But something felt off—a shadow shifting unnaturally near the outer gate. I squinted, stepping to the side of the path and blending into the shadows.
Figures. Three of them, moving in sync—too fluid, too precise to be common thieves. Their cloaks fluttered lightly in the night breeze, and when they circled closer to my barracks, my stomach clenched. My father’s people.
Damn it.
A soft whisper of wings rushed past my ear, followed by the thud of something heavy landing behind me. I spun, only to find Siergen’s dark wings folding against his back, his golden eyes fixed firmly on mine.
“I thought you were still on the isle,” I said, stepping closer.
I felt your distress. His voice curled in my mind. Your emotions rattle Kaelith.